Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
LAURA
T he smell of Szechuan spices thick with chili and garlic fills the air. My mouth waters as my mom lifts the lid off a bubbling pot of mapo tofu. I nearly drool at the sight of the rich red sauce glistening in the light. Across the table, Aunt Mei scoops rice into bowls, her bangles clinking softly with every movement. Dad is already peeling an orange for dessert, though we haven’t even started eating.
Mom’s sharp tone cuts through the cozy hum of the kitchen. “Laura, pass the scallion pancakes.”
I slide the plate over, biting my tongue. Mom has this uncanny way of packaging requests like demands. It always bothers me, but I never dare to bring it up. Especially because, when she speaks Mandarin, she’s perfectly polite. Linguistic subtleties tend to get lost in translation. And, seeing as I’m the only one in the family who was born in France, it doesn’t feel fair to lecture the others.
“You’ve been quiet,” Aunt Mei says, her eyes squinting at me. “Tired from work?”
My eyes dart to the clock on the wall. “A little.”
Ten minutes to go until the doorbell rings.
“Tired is normal.” Mom sets the tofu down. “Banking is a good job. Stable. Respectable. Not like those… what do you call them? Freelancers?”
I focus on the steam curling into the air and bite my tongue once more. Don’t say anything confrontational! I stab my chopsticks into a piece of tofu, put it in my mouth and let the numbing heat distract me.
“Stability is everything,” Dad chimes in. “Freelancers and other punks can’t afford to raise a family or buy an apartment in Paris. Remember that.”
“I remember.” It’s not like you guys let me forget.
“Will you reconsider meeting my friend’s cousin?” Aunt Mei jumps in. “You’re not getting younger, you know.”
Here we go.
“I’m only twenty-eight,” I remind her.
“And the clock is ticking!” She points her chopsticks at me like an accusation. “Do you want to end up like me?”
“Totally.”
Careful, Laura—keep it positive!
I smile softly before adding, “You create beautiful things, and you sell them at a profit. You’re a gifted artist and a shrewd businesswoman. You’re my role model, Aunt Mei.”
“I’m a bad model.” She shakes her head. “Professionally, I’ve made it. But, trust me, it’s brutal when you realize you’re middle-aged and alone. Do you really want that?”
“Well, I had a boyfriend until recently…”
“He was no good!” all three of them shout out in chorus.
“And also too young for you,” Aunt Mei adds.
“Mike is twenty-five,” I point out.
They respond with smug looks as if to say, point proven.
“The last thing I want for you is to become me, Laura,” Aunt Mei says with a dramatic sigh. “And I worry when I see it’s where you’re headed.”
I check my watch. It’s showtime!
“Please, don’t worry, Aunt Mei,” I say. “I won’t be alone much longer.”
She pauses, chopsticks in midair.
Mom frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The doorbell rings.
I stand so quickly my chair scrapes against the floor. Muttering “excuse me,” I scurry to the entryway and open the door. There they are—the TV crew. A cameraman, a sound technician holding the boom mic, and Isabelle, the anchor.
She beams. “Bonjour, Laura! Ready?”
“Hi everyone, come on in,” I say, stepping aside.
My heart races as they set up in the open kitchen, adjusting lights and testing sound, to the dumbfounded stares of my relatives.
Dad glowers at me. “What’s going on?”
“Everyone, I have an announcement!” I clasp my hands together. “I’m going to be on national TV.”
Mom’s jaw drops. Dad and Aunt Mei look just as baffled.
I pick up my phone and dial. It rings twice before Grandma Feng’s face appears on the screen.
“ Wàipó, nǐ hǎo! ” I greet her in Mandarin and hold up the phone so that my parents and aunt can exchange greetings with her, too.
“Who are those other people?” she asks, squinting at the camera.
“Just stay on the line, OK?” I prop the phone on a stand. “I want you to hear this, too.”
The camera rolls.
I take a deep breath and blurt, “I’ve been selected for Wed at First Sight. ”
Silence. Utter and complete silence.
Finally, Mom speaks, her voice sharp, “What?”
“It’s a reality show,” I explain. “They match you with someone, and you get married. The wedding is next week.”
Dad stares at me, speechless. Aunt Mei sets her chopsticks down like they’ve betrayed her. Grandma Feng says something in Mandarin that sounds like a swear word no one taught me.
Mom holds up a hand. “Wait. You’re telling me you’re getting married to a man you’ve never met?”
“That’s right.”
“Who is he?” she demands. “What does he do? Is he Chinese? Part Chinese?”
Nope, not if the production respected my wishes.
“I don’t know,” I lie. “That’s the whole point of the show.”
“You don’t know ?” Aunt Mei’s voice pitches even higher than Mom’s. “Laura, this is madness!”
“It’s an adventure,” I counter.
Isabelle steps forward. “I assure you, Monsieur and Madame Yang, the match is based on Laura’s preferences. The man our panel of experts selected is perfect for her.”
Mom narrows her eyes. “Which preferences?”
“Does he have a stable job?” Dad asks. “A steady income?”
I doubt it.
Isabelle smiles. “Those are legitimate questions, but I can’t answer them at this point, unfortunately. You’ll find out everything about him next week.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Mom presses her lips together. Dad leans back in his chair, arms crossed. Aunt Mei keeps shaking her head. Even Grandma Feng looks ready to disown me on a video call.
Finally, Mom speaks, her tone ice-cold. “Don’t expect us to come to this… wedding.”
My stomach twists with disappointment, even though I can’t say I’m surprised. “As you wish.”
I look at the camera immortalizing my family’s strained faces. A part of me wishes I hadn’t done this. The other part—the royally pissed-off one—is excited that vindication is near.
Either way, the die is cast.
There’s no going back.